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Takeshi has always admired Andou.

Andou is the reason he joined the gang in the first place. Takeshi has always had vague fantasies of being a delinquent, someone with enough intimidation at his disposal to clear streets with a glare, to gain respect for no more than a growl, but it was only in laying eyes on the other’s broad-shouldered height that he saw his true path with as much clarity as if it were predestined. Takeshi admires delinquents, respects their disregard for the stratification of society and their choice to force the world to conform to them instead of the other way around, and in Andou he finds the perfect leader to follow into the life he once used to dream of.

Things have changed, recently. Andou leaving the gang was a blow to Takeshi, a devastation he thought he might never recover from; his call a week later asking to come over was redemption offered from a source Takeshi had thought stripped from him forever. Takeshi had agreed, of course, surrendered to whatever Andou suggested -- it’s his responsibility to obey his leader, after all -- and even when those suggestions began to drift in a very different direction to what he had originally expected he finds himself increasingly anxious to meet them, to provide any and all assistance Andou might be needing in whatever new life he is seeking for himself. Andou might not be the leader of the gang anymore, by his own declaration, but Takeshi would follow Andou anywhere, and that is a far greater persuasion than what remains of his fantasies of lawlessness.

Andou requested access to Takeshi’s apartment, and particularly to Takeshi’s gaming console, some days ago. Takeshi had been delighted to have Andou within the space of his home, and additionally grateful for the games the other brought with him, which he has made some quiet use of late in the evening, after Andou has departed for his part-time job and Takeshi is left to explore the details of the games with a flushed face and pounding heart. It’s only to better support Andou, he tells himself as he tabs through cutscenes and voice-acted lines that burn embarrassment over all his face and knot something hot down in his belly; he’s just doing his duty as a devoted subordinate, one who is too dedicated to his chosen leader to abandon him in his hour of doubt. Andou might not be the leader of the gang presently, but he’s Takeshi’s leader forever, and if that means playing every BL game Andou brings over straight through, and twice for the best of them, Takeshi will perform his duty without so much as a thought of complaint.

It still seems impossible, to Takeshi, that he is where he is. Andou being in his apartment is one thing, and a thing Takeshi is still trying to wrap his head around; to be sitting on the floor of Andou’s one-room home is something else entirely. Takeshi has stayed where he is since Andou showed him through the door, which is to say kneeling perfectly upright near the corner of the room while he tries to keep his gaze fixed forward and instead finds his attention wandering over all the details of Andou’s life, from the convenience store uniform hanging on the wall to the rice cooker set in the corner to the futon folded against the corner to keep it out of the way. That last holds his attention longer than it should, as Takeshi imagines spreading the mattress out over the floor of the space, as possibility unfolds a panorama from one of Andou’s games into his mind, with the door coming open to a heavy-lidded Andou who gestures behind him with a rough laugh of apology. “Sorry,” he’d say, in a voice husky on sleep. “You caught me sleeping in. Nowhere to sit but on the bed but make yourself at home.” Takeshi would duck his head, and shuffle into the room and kneel at the edge of the bed, but:

“Don’t look so stiff,” Andou would say. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” as his hand touches Takeshi’s shoulders and lingers to trail against the line of his back. “You might as well get comfortable. Isn’t that shirt kind of heavy for the weather we’ve been having, anyway?”

“Ono-kun.” There’s a touch at Takeshi’s shoulder, a warm weight pressing his shirt to his skin; Takeshi jumps as he returns to his own awareness, startled back from his imagination by the fact of Andou actually physically in front of him. He’s still kneeling on the floor, his hands braced carefully over the tops of his legs, but now Andou is alongside him, one knee at the floor as he frowns at Takeshi’s face. “You alright?”

“Huh?” Takeshi gasps. “Yes. Of course, Andou-san.”

Andou’s still frowning as his attention works over Takeshi’s face. “You looked like you were somewhere completely different.”

“No,” Takeshi blurts. “I’m here, sir.”

“Alright.” Andou goes on frowning at him for a moment before he looks down. Takeshi follows his gaze to find Andou holding a cup with the hand not currently gripping at his shoulder. “Did you want some tea?”

“Yes,” Takeshi says, and reaches to take the cup from Andou with both hands. “Thank you, Andou-san.” He brings the cup to his mouth to sip from it; it’s only as the liquid burns over his tongue and down his throat that he realizes how hot it is, and by then he’s already swallowed the fire all the way down his esophagus to smoulder into unpleasantly clear awareness of his stomach.

“Wow,” Andou says. “You have a really good heat tolerance, Ono-kun.” He doesn’t wait for an answer to this; his frown has shifted inward, pulling away from attention to Takeshi to focus on whatever thoughts he’s carrying in himself instead. Takeshi holds the scalding tea between his hands and stares at Andou’s abstracted expression, fixed to statue-stillness by the weight of the hand still at his shoulder. Andou’s brow creases, his expression tightens, and finally he takes a breath to speak.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks. “I know it’s a lot to ask. If there were someone else I could…” He shakes his head and sighs. “But there’s not. It has to be you, Ono-kun.”

Takeshi’s face burns. “That’s fine,” he manages to choke out past the self-conscious heat stuck in his throat. “I don’t...I don’t mind.” He draws a breath deep enough to manage his confession. “Anything I can do for you, Andou-san.”

Andou huffs a laugh. “Thanks, Ono-kun,” he says, and claps his hand at Takeshi’s shoulder to the comfort of a pat. “It’s great to know I have a kouhai like you.” Takeshi stares at Andou’s face, feeling his chest tighten down on some absurd admission to answer the other’s statement, but Andou is turning away, even his hand at Takeshi’s shoulder drawing back as he moves to sit on the floor with a huff of an exhale. Takeshi is left to kneel with the cup of tea gently burning across his palms and the afterimage of Andou’s hand branding against his shoulder while Andou looks away to reach for the magazine cast to lie a few feet away.

“I’ve been doing some reading,” he says, and then, as his face colors and he clears his throat, “For research purposes, of course. You understand.” Takeshi ducks his head into a nod and Andou gives a strained laugh. “I wouldn’t be asking you to do this just for myself.”

“It’s okay,” Takeshi says. “I don’t mind.” Maybe that last comes out a little too breathlessly willing, from the way Andou looks up at him; but he has the magazine in his hands, and in the end that pulls his attention down to the page before him instead.

“I’ll go through them from the beginning,” he says, talking to the glossy pages instead of to Takeshi before clearing his throat and turning the page. “So. Uh. This first one is…” He’s red all across his cheeks, however hard he clears his throat. “Yeah.” Andou frowns at the page, like he’s studying it, before reaching out to lay it carefully next to them. Takeshi follows it like his attention has been glued to the image. It’s only the tea in his hold that is keeping his hands from trembling.

“So.” Andou grimaces, clears his throat, coughs, then finally lifts his gaze to meet Takeshi’s. “I’m just going to…” Takeshi nods. Andou draws a little closer over the space between them and lifts his hand before pausing over the cup still braced in Takeshi’s hold. “Oh. Let me--”

“Please,” Takeshi blurts, and hands over the cup. Andou takes it from him carefully and turns to set it aside at the edge of the room.

“Guess I should have thought about that before I offered you tea,” he says, forcing a chuckle. “Anyway. Uh.” He clears his throat again and then lifts his hand, quickly like he’s forcing himself to act. His fingers touch at Takeshi’s chin, a little too hard at first before he softens his hold to cup the other’s head and tilt it upwards. Takeshi gives way to the pressure to let his head lift, and for a minute he’s posed with his gaze canted up towards a partner still a good arms-length away from him. Andou holds him there for a minute before he draws in closer, shuffling on his knees over the floor until he’s leaning over Takeshi in front of him.

“So I’m up on my knees,” he says. “And you’re down lower, like this.” His free hand comes out, drifts through the air for a minute, and then lands with trembling uncertainty at Takeshi’s shoulder. “And I’m coming in to…” His voice gives up, his face reddens.

“You’re leaning in,” Takeshi supplies.

“Yeah,” Andou says. His hand slides at Takeshi’s chin like he’s seeking out a hold against the other. “Like this?”

Takeshi swallows hard. “I’re not close enough.”

“Oh.” Andou ducks his head to look down. “I can’t--” He slides closer, his knee bumps Takeshi’s. “But you’re in the way.”

“It’s.” Takeshi lifts a hand to gesture weakly towards the illustration in the magazine. “I need to…” He braces his hand at the floor to steady his weight so he can angle his knees apart by a span of inches. Andou’s gaze dips off his face and down; Takeshi presses his lips together to swallow hard. “You need to. Uh. Put your knee between mine.”

“Oh,” Andou says. He hesitates for a moment before moving to slide his knee across the floor and just barely between Takeshi’s. “Like that?”

“Maybe a little farther,” Takeshi manages. “In the picture they’re...they’re really…”

Andou huffs. “Yeah,” he says, sounding rather resigned, and then his leg slides forward and Takeshi’s words fall completely free from his mind as Andou’s thigh interposes itself between the angle of his own. Andou is moving fast, as if to make up for his initial uncertainty, and when he pushes Takeshi’s legs slide wider to accommodate the solid force of the other’s leg coming between them. Andou’s thigh slides up to shove at the front of Takeshi’s pants, a solid weight presses to the other’s hips, and Takeshi’s breath spills from him in a sound that he would like to call an exhale instead of the whimper he thinks it much more closely resembles.

“Okay,” Andou says from where he’s now looming over Takeshi in front of him. “That’s a lot more like the picture, isn’t it?” He turns his head to the side to consider. Takeshi doesn’t lift his gaze from where it’s fixed to the front of Andou’s shirt; it’s only when the hand still clasping to his chin lifts to urge him up that his attention moves, and even then he can’t close the part of his lips or tamp down the color staining crimson all across his cheeks. He looks up into Andou’s face, urged there by the hand bracing at his chin, to find Andou frowning down at him, his forehead creased but cheeks still faintly pink with embarrassment.

“Right,” he says, a little roughly. “I think we’ve got it.” He glances away at the magazine again. “You even look like the character does.” He laughs weakly and looks back to Takeshi. “I had no idea you were such a good actor.”

“Y-yeah,” Takeshi says, completely unaware of what he’s replying to beyond the identity of the speaker.

“Let’s try the next one,” Andou says, and turns to the side to reach and flip to the next page in the magazine. He fumbles a little over the slick of the pages as he tries to turn them but Takeshi stays right where he is, feeling as if he’s been pinned to perfect stillness by the leg angling between his own as much as the hand Andou still has resting against his chin. Andou finally manages to turn the page over, but he goes silent, without turning back to resume his position with Takeshi. Takeshi stays still for a long period while his heart rattles in his chest like it’s trying to break free, until finally it’s been so long that the adrenaline rushing into him eases somewhat to touch his thoughts with a whisper of uncertainty.

“Andou-san?” he says, feeling the words thrum to greater tension under the hold of Andou’s hand against him, and he tips his head to trail what the other is looking at. It’s hard to see the magazine, from the way Andou is leaning forward over it, but then he straightens and Takeshi can get a glimpse of the next panel displayed before them. “Oh.”

Andou clears his throat. “We don’t,” he starts, and then, with somewhat greater force, “We could just stop here,” sounding rather tense with the offer. “I only really need to know one or two of these, I bet just the first is--”

“Andou-san,” Takeshi says. He doesn’t mean to speak as loudly as he does but his chest is too tight to leave him space to easily speak and he has to struggle to force the words free. Andou looks back to him, his eyes wide with surprise as his attention comes back to Takeshi. Takeshi stares at him for a minute, struck speechless by Andou so close in front of him; then he presses his lips tight together, and swallows hard, and speaks with the same manic edge that he attained on his first effort. “You’re not...not giving up, are you?” Takeshi angles his head to the side, towards the magazine spread open on the floor to the picture of the two characters locked in a rather passionate embrace. “Something as small as this wouldn’t stop you, Andou-san.”

Andou’s jaw sets, his head comes up. “No,” he says. “Of course not. I just...don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” Takeshi says, hoping he sounds more loyal than lovestruck. “Whatever you need.” He lifts his hands from where they’ve been hanging heavy at his sides to make a weak gesture to underscore his point. “I’m ready, Andou-san.”

Andou’s brow creases, his mouth works. “If you’re really sure, Ono-kun.” Takeshi nods, because it seems safer than opening his mouth and taking a risk of saying more than he should. Andou frowns, his whole expression going stormcloud-dark for a minute; then he ducks his head, and huffs a breath of decision.

“That’s right,” he says, softly enough that Takeshi thinks he might be speaking to himself instead of for Takeshi’s hearing. “I can’t be stopped by something like this. Not with such a loyal kouhai.” He nods decisively and lifts his head to meet Takeshi’s gaze as he reaches to clap a hand to the other’s shoulder. “Thank you, Ono-kun. You always know what to say to motivate me.” They look at each other for a moment; then Andou’s gaze slides down to his hand at Takeshi’s chin, and his determination softens into uncertainty. Takeshi watches it flicker over his face, hesitant behind his eyes and flexing at his jaw, and then Andou breathes out hard and tightens his hold.

“Right,” he says, and he leans in sharply to press his mouth hard against Takeshi’s. His motion is too fast, made jerky on intensity as he closes the distance between them, but Takeshi doesn’t notice the bruising force of Andou’s mouth crushing to his for how fast his lashes are dropping over his eyes and how immediately his body is surrendering into the grip of Andou’s hand at his chin. He tips forward, his balance urging him nearer to the span of Andou’s shoulders and the breadth of his chest as Andou’s hand at his shoulder lifts to bump awkwardly at the back of his head. Andou’s palm fits behind his ear, his fingers tighten in Takeshi’s hair, and Takeshi’s jaw softens to part his lips to invitation.

Andou pulls back immediately, jerking away so fast that Takeshi’s exhale spills loud past his suddenly uncovered lips and into something alarmingly close to a moan. “Oh,” Andou blurts. “Ono-kun, you--”

“It’s like the picture,” Takeshi says immediately, although he’s not looking at the magazine and has no real idea if his statement is accurate. “I’m your lover, Andou-san.”

“Ah,” Andou says, and turns his head to look. “Yes. I suppose...we are pretending to be characters in love with each other.” That wasn’t exactly where Takeshi’s imagination was leading, but it’s close enough that he doesn’t protest as Andou nods decisively. “Thank you, Ono-kun. I can always count on you to keep me focused.” Andou shifts his hand to a better grip on Takeshi’s head, and when he comes in this time it’s with his mouth open to fit against Takeshi’s own. It’s hotter immediately, with Andou’s breathing spilling into Takeshi’s mouth, and he follows it right away with greater heat, in the form of his tongue sliding forward to fit past Takeshi’s lips. Takeshi’s mouth softens, his jaw opening wider in immediate welcome of the taste of Andou on his tongue and filling the space of his mouth, and Andou leans in farther, tilting himself forward as Takeshi arches back to trust himself to the grip of the hand at his head. Andou lets his hold on Takeshi’s jaw go to reach behind him and brace a hand at the small of the other’s back, and Takeshi lifts his arms, fitting them between Andou’s so he can wind his arms against the other’s neck and hold himself closer. He slides his tongue against Andou’s, working them closer together as Andou grunts a low note of surprise in his throat, before tightening his lips around the force of the other’s tongue so he can suck and urge Andou deeper into his mouth. Andou groans at that, the sound muffled in his throat and hot at Takeshi’s lips, and when he pulls back Takeshi can feel the heat of his speeding breathing as much as he can hear it.

“Wow,” Andou breathes. “That’re really dedicated to this, Ono-kun.”

“Mm,” Takeshi hums, even his attention to subterfuge disintegrating with the taste of Andou’s tongue filling his mouth. “Your hand should be lower, Andou-san.”

“What?” Andou turns his head to look back at the magazine; his cheeks color darker as he considers the tangle of limbs presented on the page. “Ah.” His hand tightens at Takeshi’s back; and then slides down, sweeping over his body all at once to settle solidly over the seat of the other’s jeans. Having fixed himself to action he doesn’t hesitate again; his hand presses hard against Takeshi, his fingers tighten to squeeze against the other as if to make up for his brief hesitation. Takeshi’s hips rock forward of their own accord, bucking in to press himself flush against Andou’s body against him, and his head tips back against Andou’s hand bracing him still.

“Oh,” Andou breathes, sounding a little stunned, from what Takeshi can spare the attention to notice. “Ono-kun.” His hand shifts, his fingers tighten, and when he comes back in it’s to breathe against the curve of the other’s throat in a position Takeshi recalls vaguely from the image on the magazine spread open next to them. Takeshi isn’t thinking much about the magazine right now, though; he’s caught up in the movement of Andou’s breathing against his neck and the touch of the other’s mouth bumping at his skin, first clumsily and then with greater force as Takeshi gives way to it. Takeshi shuts his eyes, winds his fingers farther into Andou’s hair, and gives himself up entirely to the illusion they’re creating, where Andou is the broad-shouldered, self-confident lover overriding all Takeshi’s half-formed protests with the overwhelming force of his desire. Andou’s mouth is printing heat to Takeshi’s neck, his fingers are digging in hard against the other’s body, and Takeshi has given up all self-consciousness about the surrender of his body and the sound in his throat to the immersive satisfaction of Andou’s touch against him.

It’s some time later that Andou surfaces, or at least that he pulls away enough to more than shift from Takeshi’s neck to his mouth or back again. Takeshi’s eyes are heavy-lidded, his lips bruised soft and aching with friction; there must be bruises against his neck from the work of Andou’s mouth, but he doesn’t have any focus to spare to worry about them. It’s hard to come back to himself as Andou draws back, and even when he turns his head and lets his hold on Takeshi’s head go to reach out Takeshi stays where he is, with both arms winding around Andou’s shoulders and his head tipping forward to brace at the other’s chest. He’s perfectly happy, he thinks dizzily, there can be nothing more that he wants from the world; and then Andou tenses against him, his body flexing taut on strain, and when he says “Oh” Takeshi’s attention is drawn sideways in spite of himself. The magazine is still open, turned now to the next page of excerpts from the game in question; for a minute Takeshi struggles to make sense of the image, for how different the lighter colors are than the dark shadows that wrapped the two characters in the first two frames. The perspective has changed too, he sees, they’re pulling in to a first-person shot instead of the more distant framing of the first two; and then he realizes what he’s looking at, and he stiffens as instantly as Andou did against him.

They are both perfectly silent for a long moment. It would be peaceful in other circumstances; with both of them staring at the page of the magazine the quiet is loaded with weight enough to ring against their ears. Takeshi can’t look away from the page, can’t wrench his attention aside from the deliberate angle of the image, the melting-soft gaze turned up at him, the lips parted in expectation of--and Andou clears his throat with rough force.

“I didn’t know they printed this kind of thing in magazines,” he says, sounding like he’s fighting for control over the words. When he swallows Takeshi can hear the motion in his throat. “We don’t have to do this one, Ono-kun.”

“No,” Takeshi blurts. “I want to.” Andou’s head turns, his gaze swinging around to press shock against Takeshi’s face, and Takeshi reels back in an attempt to salvage this accidental admission. “I want to. To do what we set out to do.” He sets his jaw and swallows hard before lifting his head to meet Andou’s gaze. “I’m with you to the end, Andou-san.”

Andou is very red in the face. There’s the start of sweat against his hairline, Takeshi can see if he looks for it, but he’s not reaching to wipe it away. His hand is still gripping Takeshi’s ass. “To the end?” he repeats, a little weakly.

Takeshi ducks his head. “All the way,” he says. “Anything you want of me, Andou-san.”

“Oh.” Andou’s gaze dips, sliding over Takeshi’s face like he can’t quite stand to meet the focus in the other’s eyes. His attention lands at Takeshi’s mouth, skips sideways, and then returns like he can’t make himself look away to linger at the part of the other’s lips. Takeshi lets his mouth go soft, tries to make his lips look as inviting as he possibly can short of actively running his tongue across them. Andou blinks, his cheeks darken, he turns to look aside as he coughs roughly. “O…okay.” His hand shifts, like he’s just remembering where he’s holding, and then he draws his touch back quickly, as part of the same movement that pulls him sliding away so he can rise to his feet. Takeshi stays where he is, kneeling in the middle of Andou’s apartment with his heart racing on anticipation of this impossible indulgence, he can’t possibly be about to...but Andou is standing in front of him, the mere position of their bodies suggestive with the strain tenting the front of his pants, and Takeshi can’t lift his gaze from the outline of Andou’s arousal pressing at his clothes.

“It’s from the kissing,” Andou says, needlessly, as if Takeshi hasn’t had his own erection grinding against the other’s thigh since the first moment Andou urged them closer. “It’s just…”

“Of course,” Takeshi says, hastening to soften whatever excuse Andou wants to make. “I understand, Andou-san.”

“Yeah,” Andou says, and turns his head to look away at the far side of the room. “You...really don’t mind?”

Takeshi shakes his head. He doesn’t trust himself to speak right now; his heart is going faster than it ever has before just with anticipation. Andou glances at him, looks away again, clears his throat; and then breathes out hard, and reaches to lower the zipper of his pants in a rush. The fly comes open immediately, pulled wide by the strain against it, and Andou’s fingers are unfastening the button on the front of his boxers and Takeshi can’t look away, can’t manage attention to anything else as Andou pulls his cock free of the cover of his clothing. Andou slides his hand down, pushing his clothes to the base of his shaft so the whole length of it is standing out clear from his unzipped pants, and then he pauses like that, with his grip tight against himself and the strain of his erection jutting out expectantly in front of him.

“Okay,” he says, sounding far less certain than he looks at present. “I guess--” but Takeshi is sliding forward over the floor, drawing closer to Andou’s feet and reaching out for the other’s hips without waiting for a greater invitation than the one already presented to him. His hands settle at Andou’s hips, his grip fitting into place as easily as if it was intended to land there, and as he rocks up over his knees he’s opening his mouth already, parting his lips to the soft of expectation as he leans in. Andou hisses an inhale, his fingers tighten where he’s bracing his cock out from his hips, and Takeshi leans forward to slide his lips over the other’s cockhead and draw Andou’s length back and over the drag of his tongue.

Andou makes a noise over him, a strange combination of surprise and a moan that rings like a bell in Takeshi’s ears, but Takeshi can’t lift his gaze, can’t pay attention to his hazy vision at all. He’s leaning forward, ducking his head in as he swallows Andou back to fill the whole of his mouth with the solid heat of the other’s cock, and when Andou’s hand drops from his bracing hold it’s to clutch at Takeshi’s hair and rumple it into a hold under his grasping fingers. Takeshi comes all the way in, taking Andou as far back into his mouth as he can manage before he draws back by a few inches so he can slide forward again. Andou groans again, the sound unquestionably heated this time as his cock fills Takeshi’s mouth, and Takeshi shuts his eyes entirely so he can focus on the work of his mouth and lips and tongue around Andou. His nose is heavy with the smell of Andou’s skin, the taste of sweat-salt is thick on his tongue and bitter at the back of his throat, and Takeshi’s heart is pounding so hard he’s feeling dizzy and can’t think enough to pull back and gasp to fill his lungs with air.

“Oh,” Andou is groaning, “Oh, fuck, Ono-kun.” His hand is digging into Takeshi’s hair, more bracing than pulling to urge the other into a rhythm, but Takeshi doesn’t need any encouragement to lean into his efforts to draw Andou’s orgasm from him. The heat is its own reward, the weight of Andou’s cock hard and heavy enough to strain Takeshi’s jaw in opening to receive it, and Takeshi can’t believe he’s having this and can’t imagine stopping. His hands are tightening at Andou’s hips, sliding up to claim a better hold as the other’s thighs tense and tremble with the sensation working through him, and when Takeshi slides farther forward to pull Andou back into his mouth Andou moans and reaches for his hair with his other hand too to bracket the other’s head between his palms. Takeshi feels himself clasped close, held as near to Andou as he could wish himself to be, and he takes Andou back over his tongue and far into his mouth to urge the heat of the other’s desire to fill his willing self.

Andou tenses before he comes, his body arching forward like he’s flexing himself up off a bed or leaning back in pursuit of some kind of support from the open air of his room. Takeshi feels the grip at his head tighten, feels the strain in the fingers against him to draw him closer as Andou’s hips buck forward to thrust deeper into his mouth. Andou’s shoulders angle back, his head tipping as Takeshi’s thoughts blur, as his focus narrows down to just this moment, just this heartbeat, this breath of Andou straining against the persuasion of his mouth, and then Andou shouts, and jerks, and bitter salt spurts to fill Takeshi’s mouth with the other’s pleasure. Takeshi groans, the sound made muffled and wet by the liquid on his tongue, and Andou’s hands hold him steady, fixing him still while Andou’s hips buck to ride out his orgasm against Takeshi’s lips. Takeshi stays still, eyes shut and lips wet as Andou finishes himself, and then Andou stills, breathing hard enough for Takeshi to hear in the quiet around them as the work of his cock eases.

They’re still for a moment. Then Andou’s hands tighten at Takeshi’s head, bracing him still while Andou draws himself back. Takeshi closes his mouth on the heat which Andou has spilled for him, swallowing it back for himself as Andou frees his hold and reaches to tuck his softening cock back into the cover of his pants. He pulls his zipper back up with a sound that seems as decisive as a shout in the silence of the room, and then they’re back as they were, with only the lingering heat at the back of Takeshi’s throat to speak to what’s just happened.

From over his head Takeshi can hear Andou clear his throat. “So.” He pauses like he’s uncertain for a moment; then he drops to a knee, fast, like he’s trying to overcome his own hesitation by speed. Takeshi looks up at him, meeting Andou’s gaze for a moment before Andou looks away to the side. Andou’s red all over his face, his cheeks flushed and mouth dark; Takeshi can see his gaze jumping over the details of the apartment, like he’s trying to ground himself against the reality that Takeshi feels they have entirely left behind. “Uh. I could--”

“Let’s do the second one again,” Takeshi blurts. Andou looks back at him, wide-eyed as if he’s been caught red-handed in something he shouldn’t be, but Takeshi is past all point of caring or holding himself back. “Please, Andou-san.” Andou stares at him for a minute, looking like he’s not sure he’s ever seen Takeshi before; and then, just as rationality is beginning to suggest that maybe Takeshi should have been slightly more restrained, Andou clears his throat and drops his other knee to the floor to steady himself. Takeshi gusts a breath of relief without waiting for Andou to open his arms to him, and when he moves forward it’s to press himself against Andou’s chest, to wind his arms back around the other’s neck and brace himself steady as he comes forward to straddle the support of Andou’s thigh pressing hard between his own.

Andou doesn’t look back to the magazine for reference this time. One hand cups at the back of Takeshi’s head to cradle the other in against him, his other shifts back down to brace at Takeshi’s jeans, and Takeshi is sliding himself forward, letting the force of Andou’s hold bring him closer so he can grind hard against the resistance of the other’s thigh. He doesn’t even try to come in for a kiss; he’s ducking his head instead, pressing his forehead against Andou’s shoulder so he can gasp against the other’s shirtfront as he rocks himself forward to thrust against the support of Andou’s leg between his own. It’s an awkward angle, only feasible by desperation; but Takeshi is more than desperate, and Andou isn’t pushing him away even though there can be no mistaking the heat of Takeshi’s arousal grinding against him. His hand stays at Takeshi’s hair, smoothing over the strands with a gentle touch, and when Takeshi’s legs start to tremble with the anxious force of his action Andou’s hand hitches him farther forward against the other’s body. Andou’s breathing is hot at Takeshi’s ear, his hands are steady to hold the other against him, and Takeshi shuts his eyes, and clings to Andou’s neck, and whimpers into the friction grinding against the aching heat of his cock. He’s crushed against Andou’s body, the flex of the other’s thigh under him forcing against the throb of his cock, the grip of the other’s hand squeezing at his ass to pull him in closer; and Takeshi moans, and jolts, and comes against the unflinching resistance of Andou’s thigh against him. His legs quiver, tightening helplessly against Andou as the pulses of heat rush over him, and Andou stays still, letting Takeshi come against him until all the other’s tension is spent to trembling relief.

They don’t move apart right away. Takeshi can feel the heat of his orgasm soaking damp through his underwear to stick the fabric against him; with the hazy distraction of arousal spent he’s sharply aware of the dig of Andou’s fingers against the seat of his jeans and the rasp of Andou’s breathing ruffling his hair. With awareness comes self-consciousness, in the form of a blush that spreads itself across Takeshi’s face and all the way down his neck, until he can’t think of lifting his head from Andou’s shoulder to actually meet the other’s gaze, not with the humid heat of their mutual pleasure hanging like a fog in the air around them. Andou doesn’t seem in any hurry to move either, judging from the unshifting grip he maintains on Takeshi; even when he takes a rasping breath to speak his hands don’t shift or even loosen to let the other go free.

“I think that was successful,” he manages, sounding only somewhat strangled by self-consciousness. Takeshi is impressed Andou can speak at all; for himself, he isn’t sure he could manage any kind of coherency. “For. Uh. For a first try.”

Takeshi nods his head against Andou’s shoulder, and then does achieve a voice of some kind. “Yeah.”

“Probably that’s enough for today,” Andou says, and then he does ease his hold on Takeshi. Takeshi lifts himself free of Andou’s thigh between his, retreating from the drag of his jeans over his softening cock, and Andou slides backwards immediately to retreat to sit at the floor with one knee drawn up in front of him and, after a moment, an arm angled over that in turn. He’s the picture of a delinquent, posed as he is, except for the red staining his cheeks and the way his gaze doesn’t meet Takeshi’s. “Don’t want to overdo it, or anything.”

Takeshi shakes his head. “Right,” he says, sounding breathless and shaky. “Of course.”

Andou clears his throat. “Let’s pick this back up later,” he says. “Tomorrow?”

“Okay,” Takeshi says, immediately; and then, as his hazy thoughts catch up with the full force of this statement, “To...keep practicing?”

“Yeah.” Andou ducks his head into a nod. He’s still not looking at Takeshi. “There’s a lot more in that magazine. I’ve only looked at it a little, of course, but…” He coughs, clears his throat, turns almost entirely away from Takeshi. “I think it’ll be helpful for studying.”

“Oh,” Takeshi says. “Yeah.”

“I’ll buy some supplies,” Andou says, speaking quickly and without looking back to Takeshi. “Condoms and. And lube.” He’s glowing red but Takeshi feels like he’s on fire, his body radiating heat at the mere idea of Andou’s hands pressing against his bare skin. He can’t stop staring at Andou in front of him, even with the other turned away almost to the door. “Just in case, you know.”

“Yes,” Takeshi says. “Good.” He pauses, uncertain but too desperate to stay silent. “Tomorrow?”

Andou nods. “Yeah. I have work at ten--”

“I’ll be here before that,” Takeshi says.

Andou looks back at him. His face is burning red but his eyes are wide as he looks at Takeshi. “Really?”

Takeshi nods. “I can be here at nine.” Andou grimaces, looking uncertain, and Takeshi amends, “Eight?”

“Better be,” Andou says, and then, belatedly: “Hard to say how much we’ll be able to get through. We’ll want to be...” He pauses, struggling for the word. “Thorough.”

Takeshi’s skin heats as if with fire. “Oh,” he breathes. “Okay.”

Andou clears his throat sharply. “I,” he says. “I have to. Get to work. So--”

“Tomorrow,” Takeshi says, and pushes to his feet in such a hurry that Andou is left looking up at him for a moment. “I’ll be here at eight.”

Andou stares up at him. “You,” he says, and then coughs. “You don’t mind?”

Takeshi shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’d do anything for you, Andou-san.”

Andou’s eyes widen, his attention flickers briefly down the length of Takeshi’s body; then his gaze slips away, angling past the other as he swallows. “Ono-kun,” he starts; and then he ducks his head, and folds forward into a bow. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” Takeshi gasps. “No, Andou-san, please, I’m happy, I’m grateful to be...I’m glad that you...thank you.” Andou lifts his head to look up at him and Takeshi wrestles himself into a smile and a duck of the head to serve as a farewell. “Tomorrow at eight. I’ll be here.” He steps past Andou still kneeling at the floor, anxious to get himself clear of the other’s attention before he blurts himself into anything beyond what he already has. He has to brace a hand at the wall as he steps into his shoes just to keep his balance, and when he looks back over his shoulder Andou is turned to look after him, his eyes dark and focused on Takeshi where the other is standing by the door.

Takeshi musters a smile. “See you later, Andou-san,” he says, and lifts a hand towards a wave.

Andou returns the gesture. “See you,” he says. Takeshi beams at him, and turns to the door, and lets himself free into an afternoon that seems impossibly brighter than it was before. He pauses on the balcony, breathless and blushing and indecent in several different ways; and then he shuts his eyes, and takes a breath, and shudders it out before he turns to make his way back home for the span of hours he has to pass before he can be of service to Andou once again.